


steady now, you don't have to worry about looking down

by inkwelled



Series: starmoraweek2018 [7]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Basically Just A Lot of Kissing, Because Screw Marvel, Cheek Kisses, Countertop Makeouts, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Forehead Kisses, Forehead Touching, Human Biology, Literal Sleeping Together, Nightmares, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Poor Circulation, Sappy Ending, Scars, Starmora Week 2018, The Soft Content We All Deserve, These Two Saps Deserve Happiness, heavily implied sexual content, neck kisses, thigh kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-10 03:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15941159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwelled/pseuds/inkwelled
Summary: day seven ; the way you care, they won't find us here— when gamora wakes, she’s warm. it’s not just a feeling throughout her entire body, it’s a knowledge.





	steady now, you don't have to worry about looking down

**Author's Note:**

> title ; [good love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VpkRxcL77JE) by [jome](https://www.musixmatch.com/lyrics/Jome-2/Good-Love)
> 
> notes ; idara is gamora's mom's name from an earlier story in the week.
> 
> sorry for the late post! yesterday i was surprised with a trip to hershey's and the day before i just hadn't gotten done as much as i wanted. thank you all so much for coming with me on this wild ride for starmoraweek2018 - i can't wait to see y'all next year!

_i. cheek_

When Gamora wakes, she’s warm. 

It’s not just a feeling throughout her entire body, it’s a _knowledge._

All around her is the hazy outline of her vision through the furs piled high and she rubs her leg up and down Peter’s calf. Her head is pillowed into his ribs, body curled sideways around his, his arm is warm and heavy over her left shoulder. 

She wrinkles her nose, burrows deeper into the blankets and his radiating heat. Gamora has always been aware of his higher internal temperature since she first met him, but it really sticks out when they sleep this close. 

They’ve always been touchy when they sleep; whether it’s Peter laying almost completely on top of her or her head on her shoulder. Their legs are always entangled, and she enjoys his pale skin contrasting against the green of hers. 

There’s the feeling again. 

It sweeps across her face, feather-light and Peter’s arm tightens around her shoulders. She wants to bury herself back in his body but lifts her head enough to smile up at her lover. “Good morning.” 

Peter’s smile is soft, bright. It’s well past wake-up time, and outside their door she can hear the slowly rising chaos of their team, their family. Warm with his kisses, she closes her eyes when his lips brush across her cheekbones. 

Her toes pressing her closer, she smiles. 

His kisses pepper her face; moving slowly across her jaw and forehead and his lips are soft when he brushes them across her eyelids. 

Her every muscle lined up with his, she rests her hand on his stomach and lets the feeling of _love_ spread over her entire body. Mornings are her favorite; when she wakes with the smell of Peter underneath and around her and he kisses her awake in many different ways. 

Every morning brings a different love, a different warmth, and she smiles, pressing a kiss to the clothing above his heart.

 

_ii. forehead_

 “Morning,” Peter grumbles, rubbing his eyes as he shuffles past her and she muffles a giggle. He’s not a morning person; much preferring to stay in bed with her until breakfast is ready and all the Guardians are up. 

“How’d you sleep?” 

He yawns, blinking before pouring his own cup of coffee. “It would’ve been better if you stayed.” 

Smiling, she sets her mug down. “It was my turn for shift,” she reminds him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. She can hear the smile in his own voice when he finishes taking a sip. 

“At least your coffee is fantastic.” 

Gamora hums. It’s early, early enough that the lights overhead are still dim and none of the Guardians are shuffling around yet so she lets her fingers creep over his waistband. “Let me make it up to you later?” 

Peter turns in her arms, linking his own fingers around her back. “I’d like that,” he whispers, and she leans up on her tiptoes. 

Scruff he hasn’t shaved yet scrapes briefly against her lips and she smiles into his mouth. Secretly, she loves when he lets his mustache grow out a little, enjoys the burn against her skin when kisses deepen and he finds his way in-between her thighs. 

Abdomen warming with the thought, she drags her palms up her back. For once, Peter’s put on a shirt before wandering out of their bunk and she mourns that fact. Usually he’s very open with his body, but she understands. 

Her hand comes around to rest on top of where she knows the puckered scar is. Ever since he jumped in front of her and almost died in the middle of the battlefield, he’s been a little more reserved with his body. 

Peter isn’t especially self-absorbed, despite how the surface seems. Gamora will divest him of his shirt, kiss her way down his stomach, taking time to love on each scar on his body and he’ll curl in on himself. 

Contrary to what everyone thinks, Peter Quill isn’t his own biggest fan. 

Not by a long shot. 

So she presses closer on her tiptoes, rests her head against his. Peter’s hands have come under her thighs to hoist her upwards and she squeals before he sets her on the counter. 

He steps between her legs, and she tilts her head up to capture his lips. This early in the morning, Peter tastes like sleep and coffee and warmth, and Gamora brushes her fingertips over his chin. 

Peter pulls back first. 

And they stay like that. 

The counter underneath her is cold, she rests her forehead against his. Between her thighs, holding him close, he’s radiating heat and she’s drunk on his smell. 

“I’d like that,” he murmurs and she sits there, seeping in the moment. 

She’s the one that leans up to kiss his forehead, ears between her hands and he buries his face in her neck. Around the small of her waist his hands are large and comforting. 

In a few moments, the Guardians will start to stir and emerge from their bedrooms. Rocket will come out first, making a disgusted sound as she hops off the counter and greets him. He’ll grunt, get coffee, disappear into the brig to continue building a bomb and Mantis will be the next one out. 

Peter’s face will light up as he pulls her close. Mantis’ antenna will glow yellow as she smiles, hugging him back tightly, and Gamora will ruffle Groot’s leaves. Drax will be the last to come out of his room, and he’ll raid the pantry before going off to clean his knives and she’ll page through job offers.

 

_iii._ _thigh_

“You don’t have to,” he grouses, and she raises an eyebrow. 

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“No,” he says immediately, and she smiles. She works her fingers into his knee, skin a worrying pale underneath her palm, and when she looks up Peter is laying back down. 

As he’s gotten older, his circulation has, as he once said accurately, _gone to shit._ Apparently, humans have never gone this deep for this long into space, and his frail human body is slowly deteriorating as he grows older under the stress. 

Gamora slides her palm over his thigh. She doesn’t want to think of Peter without his body, as he lays in bed and it fails him over and over again. He’s already tried to push her away, convinced she would have an awful life by his side as his legs gave out more and more often. 

She had shot down the argument before he was able to get too far. 

Laid back against the pillows, Peter groans. His thigh is firm with muscle underneath her fingertips and when he tenses, the muscles ripple. She’s divested him of his pants so he lays back in only his boxers that lay low on his hips. 

His curls are rumpled with sleep from when she swept her fingers through them and pulled him on top of her. There had been a fire burning beneath her skin when he kissed her so hard she pressed into the mattress until he cried out against her lips and shrunk back. 

Overnight, his legs had locked up with the lack of circulation. She had swept back the sheets, worry coursing through her, and had tugged his sleep pants down until she could slowly work the feeling back into them. 

Peter’s starting to fade, and she can see it. 

In the light of their cabin, she observes an oblivious Peter. The years have been kind to him; there’s lines on his forehead from stress but when he laughs, his eyes crinkle that sends warmth coursing through her. 

Even all these years later, he’s still quick on his feet and quicker with his trigger. 

His blonde curls, strewed across his forehead, are sprinkled with gray hairs. It’s hard to see but in the lighting overhead she can count the strands as they shift against his skin. 

She smooths her hand over the same spot that made him groan before and his eyelids flutter. 

Smiling to herself, she moves back down his legs until she’s back at his ankle. Slow fingertips dip into the planes of the joint and Peter jolts when she presses her lips to the same spot. 

He immediately stills, so she continues. She’ll massage a spot before chasing away the feeling with a kiss. Each brush of her lips drives him – quietly – crazy and she’s slow, steady. By the time she makes it to his knee he’s trying not to pant, the feeling in his lower half _definitely_ returned. 

When she plants a kiss at the bottom of his boxers, fingertips teasing the hem, he pulls her up for a proper kiss. She giggles into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck as he flips them over and kisses his _own_ way across her body until she’s writhing against him. 

Later, she does the same for him and lathes kisses across his stomach when he slumps back, spent. Her mouth rolling around the bitter taste, she’ll let him draw her in for one last kiss before they both curl around the other. 

Yes, Peter is growing older and yes, so is she. But they’re happy here, together. 

She closes her eyes.

 

_iv. neck_

The first thing Peter registers is _Gamora._

It had been a long night; nightmares keeping them both awake. Gamora had woken screaming for her parents, cursing Thanos, and she had shaken him awake when he yelled out for his mother, damning his father. 

They had held each other close, hoping the other’s arms would be enough to protect them from their own minds. Peter had buried his face in the back of her neck as she drew him close, his arms coming to wind around her stomach. Wet with her shower, Gamora’s hair had been pressed beneath her head until he coaxed her into letting him braid it. 

By the time he had finished, his fingers had stopped shaking and she drew him into the blankets with the promise of warmth. 

Their arms hadn’t been enough 

So when Gamora woke again, crying, he had rubbed circles into her back until she could breathe normally. When he lashed out, she had held his arms down until he woke up and held him close until the trembling stopped. 

He wakes slowly, surrounded in the smell he’s come to recognize as Gamora. 

It’s almost a cold scent. It’s crisp, clean, harsh in a way like the metal of her sword, and there’s that sensation again. 

_Gamora._

He turns his head and through lidded eyes, sees her smiling at him. Her lips are curled but in her eyes flashes something dangerous, something that makes his belly curl in anticipation. But, beyond all that, buried beneath the arousal and the happiness, there’s sadness. 

It’s something he’s known has always been there. 

Even from the first moment he saw her, leaning against the wall, sucking on the fruit, there had been that lack of light behind her eyes. While he hadn’t seen it then, too self-absorbed, he had seen glimpses. 

As she declared _whatever the future held was better than her past_ , when he cupped her cheek and whispered _he couldn’t let her die_. They’ve known each other years now, and sometimes there’s still that residual sadness that he wonders will ever go away. 

He runs his thumb over the ridge of her cheek. “Hi,” he rasps, hoarse. 

Gamora leans into the touch. “Hi.” 

They fall silent after that, but it’s not awkward. They’ve both seen so much of not only their own demons but of the others, and so Peter just keeps thumbing her cheek while she lays a hand on his chest. 

“Thank you.” 

Her voice is quiet, hoarse from her own sobbing and he pulls her impossibly closer. 

Their cabin falls quiet again, and they don’t speak. Even when Gamora begins to press kisses to his neck, he just flexes his fingers around her arm and shifts. Soon, though, they turn to open-mouth kisses and bruises that blossom around the collar of his shirt. 

“ _Gamora-_ ” he protests and she makes a shushing sound, pulling herself on top of him. 

She sits on his thighs. Bending over him like this, firmly sat on the juncture of his legs, her hair spills over her shoulder. When he pushes a stray curl away from her neck, she sighs. 

“Help me forget,” she pleads, capturing his lips, and he does. 

What more can he do? 

For now, this is it. 

He takes what he can get.

 

_v. hand_

“But why is the man giving away his chocolate factory?" 

Peter laughs. They’re laying in bed, hands intertwined and he plays with her hair. Head pillowed on his chest, Gamora leans back to look at them. “If he is well, why did he create such a contest?” 

He runs his left hand through her waves distractedly. “Because he was getting older, and saw something special in Charlie that he didn’t see in the rest of the kids.” 

“So he gave a twelve-year old a business,” she says, and he chuckles. 

“Yeah, I guess when you put it like that it makes no sense.” 

Gamora props herself up on her elbow, shoulder and spilling hair a sharp curve. “How did he decide again?” 

Overhead, the lights of the _Benetar_ are full-force despite their laziness. It’s an in-between day, where Rocket and the rest of the crew is planetside to scout out the local markets and make sure they’re all stocked up before leaving. 

She had opted to stay in bed with Peter, who decided to regale her with the tale of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Even now he’s still trying to explain the intricacies that she can’t quite wrap her head around. “Was it good chocolate?” 

Peter hums. “I suppose so; the movie wasn’t real.” 

Running her thumb over their hands, she leans farther back onto his bicep. “Did your mother enjoy it?” 

His fingers halt in her hair for a half-second. She’s about to apologize, ask a different question, when Peter whispers _yeah_ before huffing a laugh, obviously close to tears. 

Gulping, he restarts combing through her hair. “In our little town there was only one theater and it was super cheap. Mom and I would drive into town and look at the posters to decide what movie to see.” 

Breath stuttering, he smiles down at her. “We saw it together three times,” he hums, “and mom swore it was her favorite movie and all the way home we rolled down the windows and sang _The Candy Man.”_

“I’m sorry.” 

Peter smiles sadly down at her, pulls her closer into his side. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. The more I talk about her…the lighter I feel.” He puts their hands on his chest, rubs. “Like after all these years, I’m finally letting her go.” 

Gamora leans forward to plant a kiss on his thumb. “I’m proud of you,” she whispers, “just don’t let her go too far.” 

He falls silent, fingers rhythmically tracing through her hair. His fingertips scrape her scalp and she leans into the touch, silently appreciative.   

In return, she pulls their hands closer and gives attention to each digit. First his thumb, then pointed finger, Gamora slowly works her way down his hand. She plants open-mouth and barely-there kisses to the tips of his fingers, the skin between, the callouses from wielding his blaster. 

When she gets to his pinkie, Peter chuckles somewhere deep in his throat. She smiles into his hand, turning it to cup his palm to her lips and kiss it resoundly. 

“What was that for?” he rumbles and she just shrugs. 

“I do not understand much of Earth’s pop culture, but I enjoy when you share it regardless and I enjoy hearing about your mother. Thank you for sharing her with me.” 

Peter’s eyes go suspiciously shiny before he leans down. “Of course,” he murmurs, and captures her lips in the slowest, sweetest kiss. “She would’ve loved you.” 

“So would’ve Idara,” she says later, when their kisses slow and she’s back to tracing circles into his back. They’ve shifted since then; his head is between her breasts and body heavy on top of hers. 

Every inch of their body touching, barriers mostly gone with their sleep-rumpled clothes, it’s the least sexual thing Gamora has ever done. They just lay there, soaking in each other’s presence and the warmth that rolls under the furs. 

“Really?” 

She hums, carding her fingers through his unruly curls. “My mother was a warrior, but she was also a protector. You are both, you two would’ve gotten along fantastically because you protected me when she couldn’t.” 

Although it’s straightforward, it brings tears to her eyes. She’s spent so long not talking about her mother that even admitting this, in the atmosphere of their six inches of shared air between lips, feels like too much. 

But Peter just smiles against her collarbone. “You did a lot of that protecting yourself, but I would’ve loved to meet her in another life.” His breath is warm against her skin, almost too much combined with the furs, but she finds she doesn’t mind. 

She presses more firmly into his back, holding him closer. 

“Without you,” she whispers, “I wouldn’t be here and my mother’s sacrifice would be for nothing, Do not underestimate yourself, Peter Quill.” 

He chuckles. “I’m not.” 

When Gamora raises an eyebrow, his smile grows wider and she relishes the feeling. “I’m not, I swear! We’ve both protected each other so many times that if it weren’t for you, _I wouldn’t be here either.”_

His hand comes to lay above the jagged, puckered, discolored scar above her right breast. It’s an honest move, a honest observation, and she runs her own hand along his jawline. 

“I guess we’re even then,” she hums. 

“I like that.” 

They stay like that for what feels like hours, until Peter brushes his face over her cheek and she giggles at the feeling of his eyelashes over her cheekbones. _Eskimo kisses,_ he whispers before claiming her lips. 

Faintly, she thinks eskimo kisses are her favorite.

**Author's Note:**

> [ my twitter](https://twitter.com/starrymora) and [my tumblr](http://nymphrea.tumblr.com/)


End file.
